Diamonds
by smileedudes
Summary: 'It means Diamond, and every diamond is precious Almas, even those who don't shine as brightly as the others' This is a story about a young girl named Almas and how she becomes and Assassin whilst also becoming a woman. Rated for later Chapters.
1. Prologue

The sound of feet pounding frantically against the sandy floor could be scarcely heard in the busy market of Masayf. A small figure darted easily between body's, clutching at the loaf of bread tucked tightly beneath their arm. "Stop that thief!" cried a man from behind them. The child in question took a swift glance over their shoulder their eyes resting on a fat sweat covered man, keeled over with one hand braced on his knee and the other raised pointing a short dirty finger in the child's direction. Hearing the sound of metal crashing together the child whipped their head back around, skidding on their heels at the sight of two guards marching in their direction. The child's eyes grew wide in fear at the sight of the large metal weapons adorning the guard's belts. Twisting their body round and managing to duck beneath a man who had tried to grab hold of their arm, the child took off up a small alley way, their thin legs increasing their pace. Grabbing hold of a ladder with the one arm they had free, the child soon began to climb up towards the roof, their brown hood falling over their eyes making it difficult for them to see. Once reaching the top of the buildings the child began to sprint again. Their eyes narrowed in determination at the sight of a gap, separating two buildings, grew ever closer. Reaching the edge of the roof the child launched them self forward, their arms instinctively reaching out to grab onto the next ledge. With a grunt the child's small body slammed into the brick wall. As their hands scrambled to grab hold of the ledge of the roof, they heard the sound of their bread land softly into the hay. After hauling them self up onto the next roof, the child looked down at the loaf of bread now nestled in the cart full of hay. Their eyes flickered nervously from the bread to the direction of the guards voices. Soon the child's eyes began to roam across the roof in search of a safe way down, quickly finding nothing to help them. At the sight of a guards head emerging from across the roof tops, the child soon made a decision. After closing their eyes for a brief second and making the motion of a crucifix across their chest, the child stepped forward and allowed the air to engulf their tiny form. After manoeuvring their body clumsily, the child landed feet first in the hay, unaware that a pair of sharp eagle like eyes had been watching them intently throughout the whole ordeal.

After stuffing the bread beneath their shirt, and listening intently for any sign of the guard the child decided it was safe enough for them to leave. They already had their root set out, and knew exactly where they were running to. So with small smile of triumph on their lips the child jumped out of the cart full of hay, and straight into the grasp of one of the guards. A high pitched squeal escaped the child's lips, as they began to thrash and kick their arms and legs around in an attempt to escape. "Stop squirming you peace of no good filth, or I'll cut off your arms and legs!" the guard spat, his grip on the child's wrist tightening. With an almost silent whimper the child stopped and very slowly tilted their head up so they could look at the guard their brown hood falling away from their face and back onto their shoulders. The guard's mouth fell open slightly in shock, before his lip curled into an awful smirk. "Looks like we've got our self's a little street mouse" he hissed, allowing small particles of spit to spray off into the face of a young girl. Her eyes were wide with fear; however her chin was stuck out in determination. Strands of her knotted black hair escaped her braid and stuck to perspiration on her forehead, her chest moved frantically up and down at the need for air. She rubbed her free hand across her face to banish away the tears that attempted to fall from her eyes; she refused to give the guards the satisfaction of letting them know she was afraid.

"Look gentleman isn't she a pretty little thing" the guard motioned at the girl before him with one of his metal clad hands. "What's your name?" he asked, that awful smirk twisting at his lip again. The young girl wrinkled her nose in disgust at his foul breath before sending a ball of spit straight into his eye. "You filthy little rat" he growled before sending the back of his hand across the young girls face, forcing her to fall to the ground with a sharp intake of breath. "You'll lose both of your hands for that" he snapped, taking hold of her hair and hauling her up from the ground. The girl began to scream and claw at the guard's hand, hearing the metal of his glove scrape against her nails. Slamming her hand down onto a nearby crate the guard ordered another guard to take hold of her arm and keep her still. With her arm pinned to the crate and the sight of the other guard raising his sword in the air, the girl closed her eyes and waited for the pain come. She heard the whoosh of air, but instead of hearing the sword hack through her own skin and bone or the sound of her shriek she heard the clash of metal. Steadily she cracked open her eyes to the sight of an older man standing in front of her. She had never seen this man before and by the looks of his clean robes and neat boots he did not spend much time in the market place or around people who lived in communities like this one and he obviously did not know that nobody stood in the way of the guards, not if they wanted to live that is. The older man's blade was blocking that of the guards, his face did not seem strained and nor did he shake or falter under the force of the guard. He was a little shorter than a guard, and visibly much older. He wore a blue robe detailed with silver and red his hood was pulled up over his head almost covering his eyes. His eyes were a dark grey colour; both of his eyes were surrounded by creases showing that they were often narrowed in thought. 'Perhaps he is a scholar' she thought to herself. However one of his eyes had a vicious looking scarf sliced across it and was covered in a white milky film giving his face an eerie air to it, and despite the fact she did not know much about scholars she was certain they did not receive such injuries from reading and writing. When the girl looked a little harder she could see his face had several scars to it but she could not tell if certain scars were just that or if they were wrinkles. The girl removed her gaze from the older man and to the face of the guard as he began to speak "What are you doing old man, this is not your concern" the guard grunted, his face becoming slightly red highlighting the force he was putting on his blade.

"It is my concern when you choose to remove the hands of my student" the older man answered, his tone was calm however the strength and dignity in his voice was undeniable. The girl's brow pulled together in confusion 'student' she thought to herself. The girl took a swift look around her realising the other guards had now removed their weapons and were pointing them threateningly towards the older man. "Lower your blade old man" the guard said, tapping his sword on the one beneath his.

"If I remove my blade, how will I be sure you will not remove her hands" the man in the blue robes asked, his blade did not even quiver.

"Do you have any payment for what she took?" the guard asked, looking the man up and down vaguely.

"Yes" the man in blue replied nodding his head once. He reached into his robes, his eyes never leaving the guards, it was not long before he had removed a brown leather bag from within his robes and chucked towards the guard pinning the girls arm to the crate. The guard let go of the girls arm catching the bag before it hit the ground. "Now may I have my student back please" the man in blue asked raising one of his eyebrows.

The guard turned and looked at the girl, his nostrils flared as he looked her up and down. "Get her out of my sight before I change my mind" he spat sheathing his sword. "But know this, if I catch her stealing again, I won't be so tolerant" he said turning on his heel and marching away the other guards following him quickly.

As soon as the guards were round the corner, the man's sharp grey eyes were boring into the vibrant green ones of the girl. His stare alone sent a feeling of dread through her, it made the hairs on her arms stand on end despite the fact it was the middle of summer and the heat was almost unbearable. "T-thank you" she stuttered, pushing herself up from the floor, and brushing the dust off her simple brown attire.

"Walk with me" he said, although the statement seemed more of an order, one which she did not want to refuse in fear that he wouldn't hesitate to kill her. "Tell me your name child" he said, as he turned on his heel.

"Almas" she replied quickly, her name rolling of her tongue without effort. "I don't understand why you saved me?" she called, stumbling over her own feet as she tried to catch up with him.

"Tell me Almas do you know the meaning of your name?" he asked seeming to ignore her question as he continued walking without so much as even a glance down at her.

"No, but I don't understand what..." she was cut off by him interrupting her.

"It means Diamond, and every diamond is precious even those who don't shine as brightly as the others" he glanced down at her from the corner of his eye to see her brow knitted together in confusion, he chuckled at this.

"Do you have a family or a home Almas?" he asked folding his hands behind his back as they walked.

She shook her head pitifully; allowing her eyes fall to the floor. "Not since I was 6" she whispered, fiddling with a piece of her torn shirt.

"I am sorry for that" he replied, realising how difficult this subject can be around orphaned children. Children like Almas were not uncommon, many families could not afford to feed themselves and their children so instead starved to keep their children alive, others just worked until their body's could take no more. He allowed her a few moments of silence out of respect.

"That was a rather adequate jump you did earlier Almas" he said, referring to the jump she made across the two buildings.

"How'd you know about that?" she asked stopping and looking up at him again.

"And it was also very brave of you to make such a jump into the cart of hay, tell me Almas how old are you?" he said motioning for her to continue following him.

"10 years old sir" she replied, pulling the loaf of bread out from beneath her shirt, and blowing a few strands of escaped hair out of her face. The man beside her nodded in approval as he turned another corner leading out of the town and towards the mountains. . "May I ask your name?" she said shyly, looking up at him from beneath long eyelashes.

"Al Mualim" he replied, watching as she offered him a small polite smile, before turning and tearing into the bread.

Almas was oblivious to her surroundings as she had now taken to shoving fistfuls of bread into her small mouth. They both fell silent for a moment, as Almas ravished the bread she had worked so hard to retrieve. After eating half the bread, she stored the rest of it in her pocket. It wasn't until then that she'd noticed where they were. A large white building with wooden doors that seemed impenetrable stood in front of her, the sun bounced off the face of the building illuminating it making it seem even grander, the walls were higher than any she'd ever seen before. Her mouth popped open in shock at the sight, she'd almost forgotten the man she had walked here with, and so when his voice interrupted her staring she half jumped out of her skin.

"Sorry" she stuttered, forcing her gaze not to wander back to the building before her.

"Have you ever heard of Assassins?" he whispered. He watched her intently as her expression went from confusion to realisation. Her bright illumines eyes widened again as she turned towards the building, she craned her head back so she could see the building better before raising a hand to her face to shield her eyes from the sun. He walked towards her before resting a hand on her shoulder; she flinched a little from the sudden connection between the two of them, but then let him guide her forward. After they had gotten through the doors he led her along a corridor with walls the same colour as the stone outside, the padding of her bare feet on the marble floor filled the corridor. Torches slotted into steel holders lined the walls, their flames lighting the otherwise dim corridor. The corridor was only short, and at the end of it was another door, much like the first one she had seen. Al Mualim knocked on the door; a small wooden latch was slid across revealing the eyes of another man.

"Ah, Al Mualim welcome back" he said. The sound of bolts and chains being unlatched and slid across could be heard before the door was opened to reveal another corridor, but this one was different to the last as it only had one wall on the left, as the other showed a large garden like area. Almas stepped through the door, noticing the garden areas was not a garden at all as men with all sorts of weapons filled her vision. Her eyes darted from man to man. Her heart began to hammer in her chest at the sight of daggers, knifes and swords began to appear every place she looked their steal faces glinting in the suns rays. A light nudge from behind her signalled for her to move forward, and so she did cautiously walking down the few steps leading into the training area, the men there did not notice her. Suddenly she felt a hand resting on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of Al Mualim, her eyes filled with questions. And then he said the words which undeniably changed her life forever "Welcome to the Bureau".


	2. First Scars partOne

"Keep your head up Almas!" the Mentor snapped, as her opponent swung their blunt dagger at her face again. Almas managed to duck under the attack, and get round to the back of her opponent. The boy spared no time in twisting round and lunging at her again, Almas jumped back and watched as the blade passed through the space she was stood in moments ago. She parried the next jab he positioned towards the side of her head and sent her own fist to smack into the side of his face; she heard the crunch of her knuckles and swallowed back the bile that climbed up her throat at the sound, she immediately brought her hand up to her chest. When the boy sent a fist flying towards her stomach, she bobbed down and used her legs to try and sweep his feet from beneath him, whilst trying to keep her injured hand out of use. Her opponent jumped over her leg easily, and used the fact she was now on the floor to his advantage. He jumped forward clasping his hands on her shoulders and rolled forwards slamming her down onto her back. The wind was stolen from her lungs as her back made contact with the ground, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as the need for air took over her. As the boy reached out to grab his dagger which had come free of his grasp, Almas began to wriggle beneath him trying to throw him off balance and escape. As Almas persisted to writhe beneath him, the boy backhanded her across the face earning a yelp from her, it didn't take long before she stopped and watched with helpless eyes as he raised his blade above his head ready to strike. Before the blade touched her throat and she was announced dead, Almas saw from the corner of her eye her mentor shake his head in disappointment and turn his back away from her, she saw the smirks of the other boys that were circled around them, she could tell from the thumping feeling in her hand that it had swelled and was most likely broken, her lungs felt as if they were on fire and now her face stung either from the slap she had just received or the fresh tears which were falling freely down her cheeks.

Almas hated when they made her fight, they always put her with boys older than her who were stronger and whose ability's far exceeded her own, the boy who was readying to defeat her now was at least fourteen, and yet she was only twelve. She often played out conversations in her head that she would have with her mentor consisting of her begging him to let her fight a boy her own age or at least someone her size, and they always ended the same way, she'd be punished for being so ignorant as to ask and then she would be forced to fight someone even older just to teach her a lesson. She always found that her opponents fought harder against her it was almost as if they relished in the feeling of beating a girl, someone weaker than them, an easy target. They would always make sure they swung with more force or moved faster, they would always be more brutal when they shoved her to the ground, and it didn't seem to matter if she cried, in fact that seemed to spur them on even more, as if seeing her tears was a victory all on its own. Some boys seemed to make it their life mission to make things difficult for her, even some of the mentors seemed to make her work harder than the others making her climb higher, run faster some would even see how far they could push her, both mentally and physically, before she would snap at them, just to give them a reason to punish her. Most of the boys, because some seemed to tolerate her presence, would always make sure when they did defeat her she'd know about it, they would often chant and jeer and make snide comments about how girls didn't belong in the creed, but she worked as hard as they did perhaps even harder. She always tried to excel in her other classes and for what she lacked in talent for throwing knifes or archery she always made up for in climbing, she'd be at the top of a building before the others were even half way up, and the swell of pride she would feel in her chest would be worth the hours of pain and sweat she'd had to endure beforehand.

As the glint of the dagger above her caught her eye, and brought her out of her momentary day dream, a sudden strange emotion washed over her. It was determination, determination to win, determination to prove the other boys wrong and determination to make her mentor proud. As the boy brought his blade down to her throat Almas sent her own dagger up and locked blades with him. The clang of the blades was enough to make the boys around them silent, her mentor turned his self back around and stared at the sight before him. Almas had clamped her jaw together gritting her teeth and had begun to push with all the strength in her arms against the force the boy was asserting on her, and now gradually the dagger was beginning to edge backwards towards him. She could almost hear her hand screaming at her in protest as she squeezed tighter, and in the back of her mind she prayed that this injury wouldn't affect her climbing ability. By this time her eyes had found that of the boys, and for a moment she found herself lost in the unusual colour of them, they were like liquid gold that seemed to see more than what most could, but in the depths of those same eyes were the first signs of defeat.

Drops of perspiration had begun to form on her forehead, and she could feel her arms burning as her muscles were pushed harder. The blade was now in the middle of them, and Almas knew the only option she had left was to get from beneath the boy, if she managed to reverse their positions she would have the upper hand. Almas slid her legs up and clamped her knees together against the boy's ribs, then using what little energy she had left used her body weight and rolled to the left, a sound that replicated the growl of an animal left her lips as she forced her body to roll. Just as they began to move the boys blade slipped away from hers and sliced across her face beneath her eye. With the smell of her own blood wafting through her nostrils and the feel of it slowly running down her cheeks, Almas felt rage begin to bubble away in her stomach. Now in a new position and with her opponent laid beneath her she used one of her hands to slam both his arms down knocking his dagger from his grip, she used her arm to pin his hands above his head leaving them useless and rested her blade at the base of his throat. Her hair had come free of its tie and now hung around them in a dark curtain, her breathing was ragged and she could taste her blood on her tongue. The boys face was flushed and his eyes were wide in shock. Droplets of her blood and dripped onto his face and ran down his cheeks like red tears. She could vaguely hear the voice of her mentor congratulating her and the more hushed voices of the other Novices around them; some of them had even clapped. But those noises were all in the back of her mind like whispers, because now Almas was fighting to keep herself from pushing the blade even harder into the base of his throat.

Altair stared up at the girl above him. His mind was replaying to him the events that had just occurred, he had been over powered and beaten by a girl, a girl who was two years younger than him at that. How he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, how could he Altair Ibn-La'Ahad be defeated by a girl? He had been so close to beating her. He could swear to Allah that he had seen the last of the fight leave her eyes along with strength in her muscles, but it had returned just as quick catching him off guard. With her dark hair circled round them like a halo and her eyes burning with green fire and a proud twisted smirk resting upon her lips, Altair felt almost intimidated. Staring up at her now she didn't seem younger than him, the way she had turned his attack round on him and positioned her blade threateningly against his throat you would think she had been training all her life. 'How hard it must be spending two years being taunted and mocked' he had thought to himself 'Surely this could not be the result of such things'. Realising she still had him pinned beneath her and that the voices around them were starting to become more concerned as to why they were still in that position, he took the opportunity to shove her backwards and away from him, before pushing himself up. Dusting off the dirt from his robes in the direction of the girl, 'Almas' he believed they called her, he took a moment to look down on her in disgust. 'That is where she belongs' he thought to himself narrowing his eyes at the sight of her. Just then a hand clapped him on the shoulder "A good Assassin must learn to accept defeat Altair" it was the Mentor.

The mentor walked over to Almas and held out a hand to her, she took it with a small 'thank you'. "Very well done Almas" he said a proud smile curling the corner of his lips "Who knew you had such strength in these arms" he said poking her bicep, she smiled in response but then winced when her smile met with her wound.

"Though it seems your victory did not come without a price" he said seriously, crouching down to get a better look at the cut beneath her eye.

"It's nothing" she insisted, jerking her head back when his fingers touched a tender spot on her wound.

"Give me your hand" he held out his own hand in waiting. Almas looked cautiously from her hand to his. An encouraging nod from the master ensured her that he meant no harm, and so she delicately laid her hand in his palm. The mentor assed the injury for a second, apologising whenever she'd let out a hiss or take in a sharp breath of air.

"There's at least 2 fingers broken, and your wrist is badly sprained" he let go of her hand which she drew to her chest immediately. He took hold of her chin and twisted her face round to get a better view of the gash across her cheek bone "This will defiantly need stitches" he said with a nod of his head. Hearing the word stitches Almas whipped her head back around, earning a short chuckle from the Mentor. "You better get used to them Almas, in this business you find yourself needing a lot of stitches" he said sliding the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow revealing a long thick and vicious looking scar which lead from his wrist and upwards before being hidden behind the material of his robe. The master straightened out his legs then "Altair" he barked, turning on his heel to face a group of boys. "You did the damage you take her to get it fixed" he ordered. Almas peeked around the side of the Mentor to see the boy roll his eyes. "Roll your eyes again at me boy and I'll have you hung by your toes and used as target" the Mentor added his tone supplying no hint of sarcasm. The Mentor walked away at that leaving Almas to stare after him.

It wasn't long before she felt a pair of cold eyes burning a hole in the side of her face. Turning her head to face the owner of the eyes, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck shoot up. They boy who's name she learnt was Altair, was stood glaring at her fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles slowly turning white. Almas swallowed, resisting the urge to run and hide. A few more moments of silence was shared between the two before Altair spoke. "Follow me" he spat before turning on his heel and marching off. Almas didn't want to follow him, in fact he was the last person she wanted to be alone with, 'An Assassins should never be afraid' she thought to herself, before hurrying after the boy in front of her.


End file.
